


Violation

by DregranEntropy



Series: Morte Silenziosa backstory [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DregranEntropy/pseuds/DregranEntropy
Summary: Lisa struggles to understand why the world isn't black and white...





	

I look down at my left arm. Countless lines run from my shoulder to my fingertips, scars from days of torture. I remember the sight of flesh hanging off bone, tendons holding my arm together. I have to look away. The scars are from the healing process; even with magic, there’s only so much they can do when restoring an Imputresco user’s work.

I put my arm behind my back and continue walking down the corridor. The first door on the left, labelled “ABITI” will have clothes, I was told. The door beyond this, “CIBO”, is the dining area. I want to get dressed, but I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten a big meal in weeks. I enter the door with “CIBO” on it.

Some of the other members of this group, Silent Death or something, will be around here. Each of them will have their own reasons for fighting the ideal world. I want a world without crime, a world where people won’t suffer. No matter the differing reasons, we fight for the same ideal world.

There’s someone in this room, sitting with their back to me, behind a kitchen bench. They’re broad shouldered, with unkempt light red hair, sporting a brown leather jacket. He didn’t react to me opening the door, so I close it with a soft click.

The kitchen is huge, starting a few metres away from me and stretching at least ten to the end of the room before bending left. The dining area is even larger, with a TV holding the attention of the other person. I move to the first fridge of many, my stomach making noise.

The person turns around, a male with plain features, and I hurry so the fridge blocks his line of site. I should have gotten dressed before eating. I hate being nude.

“Yo,” he says, standing to his full height and walking around to me. I glance at him, one hand on the fridge door. He’s staring at my chest. What a creep. I open the fridge and step close, even though it’s cold, so his lingering gaze doesn’t bother me.

Fruit line the shelves, all kinds. I recognise some, but there’s more I haven’t seen before. I pick up an apple, and then I feel someone grip the back of my neck. As I’m lifted, I look to my left: it’s the man from before. He’s frowning.

My face slams against the top of the top shelf and I drop my apple. Another hand punches me in the lower back and stays there. This is nothing compared to my torture. The man leans in close, breathing on my left ear.

“Don’t fucking ignore me, bitch,” he whispers. I watch his eyes glance down. He pulls me back so he can get a better look at my bust. He is disgusting. I grab the wrist against my neck, and use my other hand to try and push him away. He ignores me efforts, sliding the hand on my back around to my stomach, then up to my breast.

“Get off me,” I spit, pushing him away for a moment, able to twist body so I’m facing him. He pins me against the fridge with his body, now looking me right in the eye. One hand grabs the side of my head and he smacks my head against the top shelf again. His other hand, now on my back, slides down to my behind. He squeezes me.

“You haven’t said sorry,” he says, voice still soft. He closes his eyes and kisses my neck, caressing me with the hand he just slammed my head into the fridge with. I need to push him off, but I lack the energy. I’m just hungry.

As he continues to rub my neck with his lips, he steps back, holding me, rotating around and pressing me against the opposing cupboard. I have killed people like him before. He is the type of people I want to see the ideal world free of. I despise those people.

I grab his mouth without thinking. He opens his eyes and looks at me, not in the way he did before, but out of concern. Normally I would punch him, throw him off me, and then shoot him. Scum like him don’t deserve to be concerned about me. This time is no different. I’m just tired.

I give a weak smile, and shake my head. His eyebrows ease and he lets me go, giving me space. He looks confused, worried, unable to understand what’s happening.

What is wrong with me? Why do I care about how he feels? I’m not hungry anymore. I shouldn’t have agreed to join this stupid organisation. I was fine on my own. I need to have a shower.

I push off the cupboard, my back a little sore, then walk by the man. I don’t look at him.

He grabs my arm and throws me into the open fridge. He’s head is tilted down, his eyebrows angled towards his nose, gritting his teeth. He holds up his right hand, palm facing the ceiling. Fire erupts from his hand. He makes a fist and swings it into my arm, the one he’s still holding.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” He hits me again, in the stomach, knocking the breath out me. I fall forward and he knees me in the face. My nose is broken. He grabs my hair and throws me head first into the cupboard. I collapse. This can’t be happening again.

He picks me up by my hair and drags me along the floor. I think I hear him close the fridge. I want to vomit. No, I want to sleep. I don’t want to be here. I remember the face of my step-father, the bottle of beer in his right hand, the pain between my legs, and the sound of my mother sobbing. Don’t trust anyone to protect you.

The man tosses my body onto a hard table, like I’m weightless. We’re still in the kitchen, so this is probably the bench. I can hear him unbuckling his belt, like my step-father did. I always tried to run, and he always beat me. I learned I couldn’t rely on my mother to protect me, so I tried to do it myself.

My legs are pulled, and slide to the end of the bench, so my groin is just over the edge. This isn’t how it was meant to be. I wasn’t born for this. When I escaped my step-father, I vowed that no one would do this to me again.

I manage to sit up. I swing my right hand under the man’s jaw, connecting with this chin. My vision is blurry–was I crying? I wipe my face and jump down, delivering a punch his stomach.

He catches my hand and his other fist hits the side of my head too quickly. He swears at me, but I’m on the floor. I think I’m in a pool of my own blood. I feel cold. He picks me up and bends me over the bench, in the same position as before.

He puts one hand around my throat, leans in close, and says, “Fucking move, and I’ll fucking kill you and fuck your corpse.” He tightens his grip and smashing my neck into the bench, not letting go. His other hand rubs my stomach, drawing circles around my navel.

Eventually, he violates me. It hurts. More than before. I am pathetic. Everything that I fought for, it all leads to this. I can’t save the world. I can’t even save myself. I’m alone and useless. Everyone who relied on me, my child, my love, everyone. I can’t do this on my own.

I remember what my step-father said to me: “Women are disgusting. Women are the vilest creatures on this planet. They disgust me. You disgust me. You are useless. You are nothing.” He was wrong. I’ve done so much. I’ve saved countless people. I’ve killed people like him.

None of that matters. He was right. I am useless. I couldn’t save the people close to me. I can’t save myself. I can’t do this on my own.

_“Come with me, Lisa. Help me save the world, help me create an ideal world without crime, without suffering. We can do it together. You are not alone.”_

That was what Maestoso Potenza said to me during my torture. Can I really save the world?

\---

He stops thrusting against me. I don’t know how much time has passed. He finishes inside of me, and then pulls me up, making sure I’m standing straight. He links fingers with my right hand. He says something to me, but I can’t hear him.

My head snaps to one side and my cheek throbs. “Hey, what’s your fucking name?”

“Lisa,” I turn back, meeting his eyes. They are a stunning orange. Up close, I can see how refined his nose is, how attractive his jaw is with stubble. This is a different man to the one who raped me.

“Lisa,” he ponders the name, looking away for a moment. “What a beautiful name,” he smiles at me, and I give a weak smile back without thinking. He lets go of my hand, and walks around to the kitchen without a word. I notice he’s not wearing any clothes either, and he is like a sculpture, with smooth and alluring muscles.

No. I shake my head. I have to get rid of these thoughts. You can’t trust anyone. I have to leave.

I walk to the door, and he asks where I’m going. I turn and smile, with my eyes closed, I don’t know why. “I need to put something on, I don’t feel com—”

“But you’re gorgeous, Lisa. Please, stay with me,” he pleads, eyes on mine, features filled with distraught. I can’t stop myself from walking back and sitting down at the bench. He offers to cook me something. Why is the world like this? Why isn’t it black and white? I will help create the ideal world. I will end all suffering.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything will make sense.... eventually... I swear... I'll write more about this ideal world and these other characters... one day...


End file.
